


Seasonal

by Quilljoy



Category: Animamundi Dark Alchemist
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/pseuds/Quilljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is united.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasonal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Person](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Person/gifts).



> A huge thanks to my lovely beta, Mewca. And thank you, Person, for requesting Animamundi. This is a happy, hopeful fanfiction - AU, of course. I believe they all deserved a happy ending, or at least something to hope for.

 

SEASONAL

 

 

Summer finally arrives at Hardland.

 

The light lazily spreads itself over the country, reaching places where once only darkness rose. The leaves have never been greener and the trees never stood so proudly and high, their branches creaking slightly under the sun. It awakes the birds and they start chirping joyfully. The people have been up since long before.

 

It's possible to hear the sounds of the morning if one pays close attention. There's coffee being brewed in the kitchens, steps going down the stairs in the houses of all Hardland. While the wind brings the smell of freshly baked bread, the shops open their doors to the first customers. It's not even seven o'clock, and the busy streets already irradiate warmth.

 

The streets shine. Once, when the threat imposed by the war loomed over the country, the Imperial Guard rode with their horses through these paths. But now, there are only servant boys and working men and women running their errands. They can remember perfectly of what was lost before a peace treaty was signed. It's in their destroyed homes, in the grass, burnt to the ground. However, it all seems distant when the sun promises a beautiful morning.

 

In the center of the country, Kamazene is rebuilding itself slowly.

 

XXXX

 

The nights are slowly growing colder.

 

The Queen hardly thinks she should be resting now, but she also cannot resist her friends' pleas. Especially Mikhail's. He's always so particularly insistent.

 

"With all due respect, if you do not rest, you won't be able to work properly. We need you at your best, Majesty. So perhaps you could take one day off?"

 

"Oh, Mikhail, look at who's talking." She gives a soft laugh that makes the man blush to the tip of his fingers. Even after her father's death and being crowned the Queen of Hardland, Sylvie doesn't behave as a member of royalty. It's already outrageous that she has never accepted to be addressed with the due courtesy by her friends, but now she has gone too far, dropping her gowns and dressing as a man. Mikhail counsels her, but she never listens. He fears, and it's of no purpose.

 

She has never been more majestic.

 

"You've never skipped your duties either," she says and yawns; perhaps she's really tired. Maybe Mikhail is right. "I just feel so bad for all the citizens of Kamazene. They aren't allowed to take their time with the reconstruction of the city taking place. What kind of Queen would I be, if I'm having fun when my people can barely close their eyes."

 

"I understand you, Majesty, but you can't let your feelings interfere with the quality of your job," he says. Mikhail places his hand on Sylvie's shoulder and God, forgive him for touching the Queen, but she looks like she needs the support, and that's what he's there for. The fact that they're both alone makes the situation even more uncomfortable and wrong, but it's all rewarded when she places her hand on top of his and smiles.

 

"Thank you, Mikhail. Thanks for being here for me. I honestly don't know where I would be without you all."

 

Mikhail knows she means St. Germant, Georik and Maryn,… but especially Georik. So he doesn't push it. He's blushing, but he retrieves his hand carefully without startling her, and thinks of their job.

 

"Perhaps…" he thinks hard. "Perhaps you can throw a ball, Majesty? I remember you've always liked them."

 

"A ball?" she whines, and he remembers of the time when she was only a girl. Not the Princess, not the Queen. Just herself. "I can't party, Mikhail. I can't wear a dress and dance while people are working."

 

"A charity ball. We haven't had any fun in a while. The nobles need to remember why they support you."

 

"Mikhail…"

 

"You have to entertain them too, Majesty. Perhaps, throwing a party might be good enough for them to…" he coughs, hardly believing in his own plan "…open their wallets to help rebuild the city."

 

The Queen's gratitude is worth the world to him.

 

"Of course you won't need to worry with the preparations," he assures her. "I'll designate someone appropriate for that."

 

"Maryn?" she asks, reminding Mikhail that Maryn is sleeping in the room right next to the Queen's office. He feels guilty again for staying with the Queen up so late, when her own servant is sleeping. "I think Maryn would like to arrange the preparations."

 

"I'll talk to her in the morning, then."

 

She thanks him, wanting him to leave. No matter what he says, she's still working tonight. When he's at the door, he says softly "You.. Just worry about your own health, okay", and she listens, but doesn't say anything back.

 

When the time for the ball comes, all the trees are stripped of their leaves. The party is a success, attracting men and women in their high class coats and expensive haircuts. They enter the ballroom anxious to get rid of the cold, to dance, to be in their partner’s arms. Whisper and gossip are soon louder than the faint violins fading in the background.

 

Mikhail is left with Georik as St. Germant asks his wife for a waltz. It's awfully boring and, even though Mikhail searches the entire night for a woman with black hair he once fell in love with, he can't find her. There's only Georik at his side and, frankly, he's awful at parties and probably doesn't even know how to dance. Queen Sylvie is also entertaining herself with the guests, and he has no right to interfere.

 

Every noble has come, but the distinct presence of Count Sandwich and his lackeys is nowhere to be noticed. A few of his once dedicate servants and members of the Hell-Fire Club are present, though they don't talk amongst themselves and don't exchange looks. Queen Sylvie's reign is not a reign of fear, and though the small cities have a hard time changing their principles, Kamazene is free of the ban that once sent those accused of witchcraft and wizardry to their deaths. Those locked in the palace's cells, awaiting for trial, have been granted amnesty, and they show their new found loyalty in the government by swarming the Queen with presents and giving the donations she looks forward to.

 

Whoever’s there is not afraid of the Count's influence anymore. As unreasonable as it is, after all, he still sustains a great power, the choice to pledge alliance to the Queen instead of the Count might indicate a change to come.

 

The Queen reigns with kindness and love, and although strength is also necessary, she knows there's no power greater than honor and the faith in her own beliefs. Looking around, watching people with a smile, she starts to believe, too, that Hardland will be able to restore its glory, and Kamazene will be a brilliant city again.

 

XXXX

 

It's a hard time for Kamazene.

 

Snow pours endlessly from the skies, and the rebuilding of the city has been stopped until the winter is gone. There's no shelter for many, and it's no surprise to watch figures covered in hoods crossing the streets in a hurry to find somewhere - anywhere - to bring them safety and the comfort of a warm fire.

 

In one of the darkest streets, where all the lamps radiate is an eerie glow, a man covered from head to toe pounces a door to a shop with his closed fist. His knuckles already turned white, if it's from the cold or the force he's holding his hand with, it's hard to know.

 

The sign announcing _The Golden Goose _twists and spins in the harsh wind.

 

"You," Ruthberg says as he opens the door, not bothering to hide the fact that it's an unpleasant visit.

 

"Let me in, Ruth," Dashwood says. It's almost a plea. Ruthberg is smaller, frailer than him, but appearances tend to be deceiving. Dashwood is in no position other than to beg.

 

There's a moment of hesitation before Ruthberg steps aside, allowing Dashwood to enter.

 

"Fine," he says, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here?

 

"Ehh, am I not allowed to visit an old friend?" Dashwood asks, taking of his coat off and placing it on top of a chair, much to Ruthberg's dismay.

 

"Don't feel so at home. You know too well I have no reason to be talking to you. I'm working."

 

Dashwood laughs. It comes out quiet, awkward. He thought he had escaped from the windy roads, but being with Ruthberg makes him colder than being outside.

 

"I guess you're getting more work, now that the alchemy ban has been lifted. People who were too scared before and abandoned it are now more interested, right?"

 

Ruthberg glances at him with contempt and Dashwood just smiles, taking one seat all for himself.

 

"Hey, Ruth… " he sighs, resting his head into the back of the chair. "Why don't we run away? "

 

"This is the most stupid idea to ever come out of that rude mouth of yours."

 

"Go into a smaller town, where the Count can't find us. You can have your work there. People are slowly growing more accepting towards alchemy. And the Count is losing power over his... allies, now that he can't use the fear of the Inquisition against them."

 

"Shut up and get out."

 

"Eh… I guess I wouldn't manage to get straight, anyways. You know, so many times in the shadows, and I don't think I can find an honest job. I'm so tired, Ruth…"

 

Ruthberg straightens up, hands slowly creeping into the sleeve of his mantle, where he has his dagger hidden. He won't need it, he knows, but still. Agathion has always been so dreamy. Truly hoping he'd be able to find something - someone - better.

 

He's just a fool.

 

"I'm not having you here to badmouth the Count. Get out, Dashwood. No matter how many times you ask me, my reply will always be the same. I'm no traitor."

 

"I didn't come here to fight you. Come on. We could watch the stars together tonight."

 

"No," it's Ruthberg's reply. "No, we can't."

 

And Dashwood knows he can't possibly choose between Master Georik and an old friend, but he believes in the only man ever to believe in him back. He doesn't need any proof to know that Master Georik has the power to change everything, and he had already changed Dashwood's life so much that perhaps, just maybe, he could change Ruthberg's too.

 

Things are no different tonight, though, so Dashwood just closes his eyes and, still sitting in Ruthberg's chair, dreams of a world where they can be happy.

 

XXXX

 

Lillith's favorite flowers are blossoming.

 

She's in the garden when Georik arrives, and she promptly abandons the garland she's making when she hears the door bell ring soundly.

 

"Lillith, don't run in the halls," St. German pleads when he sees his wife passing by him, nimble and light like a bird. She might as well be flying as she throws her small body in Georik arms, even before he can properly enter her home.

 

"Brother!" She startles him with the sudden hug, crying his name in utter adoration. St. Germant arrives a few moments later, rushing behind her with a look of worry in his face that fades away when he sees his friend.

 

"Georik! I'm sorry, Lillith is always so hyperactive. I suppose it's a good thing," he adds "But I really wish you wouldn't run like that, Lillith. It could-"

 

"Shhhh!" she places her finger in front of her lips, making Georik look at them both, curious.

 

"It's just that I had enough of being stuck in a basement," Lillith nods, crossing her arms and pretending to be serious about it. "Brother didn't go to such an extent for me to stay sitting like a doll. Right, brother?"

 

"Yes, Lillith," he frowns. It's difficult for him to accept Lillith talking so freely of what he had done for her, and it makes him shudder. "But you can hurt yourself. So be careful."

 

"You two…" she giggles before taking Georik's hands between hers, pulling him in. "Come inside, brother. St. Germant, go ask for the servant to bring us that rose hip tea. And cake! Strawberry cake. We can't have brother here hungry, right?"

 

"Right, right, Mrs. Lillith! " he says jokingly before disappearing from their sights.

 

It doesn't take long before the three of them are sitting around a table in the garden enjoying their tea. Lillith finishes her garland while Georik and St. Germant eat. When she's done, she places it on top of her hair.

 

"So, brother, how have you been going at the palace? Is Mikhail bothering you too much?"

 

"Not at all," he smiles. "He doesn't have time to babysit me, as he's constantly worrying about the Queen."

 

"This is such a pity. You're really good friends," she says, and Georik has no idea where she did take this from.

 

"And you, Lillith?"

 

He's under the impression that St. Germant is the one who gets nervous with the question. He seems fidgety. Lillith carefully takes a sip of her tea and says.

 

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm having a baby."

 

He almost chokes on a piece of cake. For his solace, St. Germant almost chokes too. Georik barely notices it's out of laughter.

 

Georik is torn between the happiness he hadn't felt in a long time, and absolute horror at knowing St. Germant managed in any way to impregnate his Lillith. She smiles devilishly and hurries her dumb-founded brother to sit down, ordering her servant to bring him liquor. Her brother had the same reaction as St. Germant when she told him about the baby, and wonders why - shouldn't they have both_ known_? They were doctors, albeit of two entirely different kinds.

 

"Why didn't you call me then? Why trust another doctor?" Georik manages to say, knuckles going white with the force he's using to hold his cup. Lillith thinks, _for someone that managed to stitch a body under my neck, brother looks pretty shocked. _

 

"Brother! I was still upset you didn't suspect, you know?"

 

"But I thought your health..."

 

"Plus, I wanted to surprise you!" She smiles and Georik instantly forgives her. "Brother is pretty smart and knows lots of things. It's rare to outwit him, don't you think?"

 

"Yes…. I guess so," he says, embarrassed. "But I want to be the one to treat you from now on."

 

"I agree," St. Germant raises his voice. He is still laughing softly, having fully agreed with Lillith's mischief after being fooled by her himself. His friend Georik isn't someone to show emotions so easily, and taking him by surprise was a great plan that could only be conceived by his Lillith - their Lillith. "Georik is still the best doctor from Kamazene. From Hardland! He even cured the Princess’ sickness."

 

"My baby isn't a disease," she pouts angrily, but both men know she's kidding. "What does brother know about babies, anyway?"

 

"Well, until my friend St. Germant married her, I had to take care of one during my whole life," Georik joins in, defying Lillith with a sly grin.

 

"Brother!"

 

They all laugh, and the time that Lillith was once hidden in the basement seems far away. At times like those, he knows he traced the right path. No fear of sin and no demons of hell could make him chose differently. Mephisto still haunts his nightmares, reminding him of the blood in his hands, yet he knows the mornings without Lillith would be crueler than the eternity of sufferings he will face someday.

 

For now, Georik knows none.

 

"Can I touch him?" Georik asks, fingers brushing against his sister's belly lightly. Her corset is tight laced as always, keeping her figure in shape, and Georik makes a small mental note to buy her larger dresses. There's love in his eyes, and Lillith has never been happier.

 

"Or her," St. Germant reminds his friend. "Lillith, would you like the baby to be a boy or a girl?"

 

"Oh, I'd like to buy lots of pretty dresses and makeup for her," she says, giving a long, dreamy sigh. "So of course I'd like a girl. But I guess a boy isn't so bad either. The worse he can do is coming out looking like brother!"

 

"What do you mean by that?" Georik asks, falling for Lillith's teasing.

 

"Brother is so gloomy, no, St. Germant?"

 

"Yes, yes. Even when he was younger he was like that. I always told him he wouldn't get any friends if he pouted all the time."

 

It's not hard to think of magic when the three of them are like that. The true miracle is Lillith's child, and not because he or she would be born from an artificial body. Though Georik - and even a cruel man like Bruno - managed to create life out of where there was none, their homunculi had been a curse, not a blessing. They had not been true fathers, and neither had they the love of a mother. Only a desperate bloodlust filled their veins.

 

Georik can only hope the curse of the Zaberisk is lost in this child, who didn't commit any sins and who is just much as St. Germant's as it's Lillith's and his own. Kind and shy St. Germant, who still can't fight and who wishes not to - perhaps the bravest amongst the men to walk on Kamazene as the country went burning down, consumed by the flames of rage and war. Once, when bonfires kept the night awake, fear in the bravest man's heart, St. German's delicate fingers were mixing medicine for the wounded citizens, rebuilding homes brick over brick, caressing Lillith's soft hair. Lillith, who used her new hands to make soup for the peasants.

 

Georik knows he has more sins than the both of them, yet deep down he knew all he did was out of love, and if love can't redeem oneself, it certainly should save that child's soul.

 

_I don't know how to clear my head from these thoughts anymore_, he realizes. But Georik sees his sister, happy, and he has a glimpse of a truth he forgot while searching for the world's soul.

 

XXXX

 

Hidden in the darkness, inside dusty cabinets, books lie crumpled together. Their paper is almost crumbling, yet their knowledge remains untouchable, immutable. A cycle of death and rebirth waits outside the enclosed room where they're forgotten.

 

For now, they wait.

 

 


End file.
